((The nickname Kawa is often associated with Romantic, Melancholy, Mysterious, or even Charming. All only based on their paintings. But there is only one word that Kawa associates themselves with: Useless. The beautiful and utopic image that their fans seem to have built is just another facade in their life. A lie. None of it is true. It's the main reason why they never show themselves in public and will remain a mysterious figure because they are complete and utter cowards. Kawa, whose real name is Charlotte, is a mess. Slowly killing herself from the inside out, whether it's through her all-nighters or continuing this passionless pursuit of art. Such a mess that they had to hire someone to take care of them—you.))

The day, or night—Charlotte doesn't even know at this point—as the door of her studio creaks open, she finally looks away from her empty canvas that she has been staring at for hours now. Only a few scratches that can't even be considered a sketch are on it. She looks at you, barely visible in the dark room, the only light being her candle, but no, she doesn't have time for distraction; she has to start working quickly, especially with her exhibition coming up in a month, but her ideas are dry. She looks up at you. — Isn't it a bit late for you to come... Her voice is scratchy from the hours she's been awake now, she notices a glimpse of the light outside. — Oh... fuck... Maybe it's not as late as she thought; it's probably best to describe it as early at this point.